Thereby Hangs A Tail

There was once a boy called Billy Nutbeam who lived with his mother and father in a small cottage near a dense forest. His father worked at a nearby farm. Billy accompanied him to see the young calves and the new yellow chicks.

But animals and birds didn’t like Billy. He always pulled their tails. He just did it to tease them, and they hated it. It frightened them. Billy didn’t care, and he just went on pulling them.

Billy pulled the tail of Whiskers, his mother’s cat, and often caught hold of the long, shaggy tail of Bingo, his father’s old dog, and made him yelp with pain. He pulled the pony’s tail, and he even pulled the pretty, drooping tail of Doodle-doo, the farmer’s prize cockerel.

The thoughtless lad did it just to annoy the animals and didn’t appreciate the distress it caused. To be fair, he never forgot to feed his rabbit, and he always saw that the dog had plenty of water in his bowl. However, the inconsiderate teasing upset his mother. “I’m ashamed of you, Billy,” she said. “One of these days something will make you sorry for pulling tails so much.”

Billy laughed at this warning. He ran out of the back door, pulling the cat’s tail as he departed.

#

During the summer holidays Billy went for a long walk in the forest. It was a lovely sunny day, and he’d offered to gather some wild berries for his mother. He followed a winding path that led between the trees into the wood and he searched for ripe fruits, but struggled to find much that was worth picking. 

Billy continued down the narrow track between the tall and shady trees until he encountered a bright clearing in the forest’s heart that was a perfect place for strawberries. They were plump, sweet and plentiful and many more than he could carry home. He collected many handfuls and stashed them in his knapsack. 

Billy wasn’t the only person engrossed in harvesting the bountiful crop. He lifted his head in search of more runner stems and noticed a little girl with a wicker basket. She had the prettiest face he had ever seen, framed by short-cropped hair. Her hands and feet were petite and yes, she had cute pointed ears too. 

Billy ducked down so as not to be spotted and watched her flutter about. She was so light, Billy was sure that she hovered above the ground as she moved. 

The lad recalled stories of woodland folk that lived deep in the forest, but he assumed those were just Grandma Nutbeam’s daft tales. She raised Billy on her bedtime stories about goblins that lived under tree trunks and ogres who inhabited riverbanks, but he’d never believed them until now. She could only be a pixie, he surmised. 

When the little girl’s basket was full, she drifted into the forest. Billy wanted to know where she lived, and he followed her at a discreet distance. His pulse raced as he gave chase. He was careful not to make too much noise. He didn’t want to frighten her in case she flew away.

The trees thinned out again and in another clearing was a dainty peach-coloured cottage. It had an oval door, two matching windows and a roof made from straw. The pixie floated up the footpath, disappeared inside the building and shut the door.

A cream coloured wall ran around the garden, and on top was an elegant black cat. Its slender limbs and straight back gave it a majestic air. Billy observed the curious feline. He concluded it could only be a pixie cat, and he reached out to stroke it. The cat had a haughty manner and raised its whiskers with disdain as Billy approached. Its long black tail lolled back and forth as if it was marking time. The cat allowed Billy to stroke its long, sleek back and purred as his fingers curled round its tail. Its awful yellow eyes rolled over, and it hissed as Billy tightened his grip. Billy narrowed his eyes and smiled at the cat as he pulled with all his might. The beast appeared to grow, its eyes flashed a hellish crimson, and it screeched with a shrill high-pitched cry.

Billy stepped away from the animal and the colour drained from his face. The cat disappeared from view and it left Billy clutching the long black tail in his right hand. The cat meowed, and he spotted it leaping up and through one of the oval windows into the house. He heard a shriek and crash from within.

The door flew open and the little pixie appeared. The little girl no longer looked pretty or friendly. “What have you done to my cat, you nasty boy?” She screamed at Billy. “You wicked boy!” she yelled. “My poor cat’s tail!”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Billy, shaking as tears came to his eyes. “Believe me, I---”

“I don’t believe you,” shouted the pixie as she fluttered toward him. “All the animals complain you pull their tails.”

“But what can I do with this tail?” He wiped his eyes with his shirt cuff. “Can you reattach it?”

“No, I can’t, you silly boy!” she said, landing in front of Billy. “Tallulah will grow a new one, but that’s not the point,” she said. “They come off easily and it’s very painful for them.” 

“I wouldn’t have pulled it if I’d known that, I promise you---”

“Tail snatcher!” she said, grabbing the writhing appendage. “Keep it for yourself!” 

The pixie threw the tail at Billy and it darted around his head like a flying serpent, avoiding his flailing arms. 

“No! No!” The tail wriggled down inside Billy’s shirt and trousers, and attached itself to the base of his spine. Billy grabbed the contorting limb and tried to release it. He pulled and yanked, but it was no good. There was no way to remove it. The tail was grafted to him and all he did was hurt himself. 

The little pixie laughed at Billy. How she laughed and laughed. She held her sides and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. The laughter echoed from the nearby trees and into the dark forest beyond. Billy looked around and spotted little faces emerging from behind tree trunks and bushes. Before long a mighty congregation of brownies, gnomes, bogles and goblins surrounded Billy and the pixie. When the pixie explained what had happened, they all started laughing as well.

“Please help me…” Billy couldn’t hold back his tears. The raucous cacophony drowned out the poor lad’s pleas. It was impossible to be heard above the assembled crowd. He stumbled about as little hands reached to grab his tail. He retreated into the forest before running away and leaving behind the hysterical laughter. 

Billy followed his footsteps as he charged through the dense woodland. He was out of breath and gibbering to himself when he collapsed in a grazing pasture. The wretched boy tugged his tail, but he couldn’t remove it. It was a part of him now. That was that. There was no choice but to explain to his parents what had happened. 

#

It was getting dark when Billy picked his way through his parents’ rear garden, his black tail swishing behind him. At last he reached the kitchen door and crept in. He was still wondering what to say. His parents were eating their supper when he entered their dining room. They looked up. “What time do you call this…?” His mother began as the long black furry tail wafted into view. “Billy, watch out!” 

“What on earth?” His father stood up, grasping a sharp knife from the table.

“Please, father don’t---” 

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

Billy explained the story to his parents and his mother furrowed her brow. “I told you something would happen to you one day,” she said. “The best thing to do is stop pulling tails and pray yours will disappear.”

#

Billy stopped his cruel pranks, but it didn’t go unnoticed amongst the local animals that he now had his own tail. Every time Billy passed a squirrel, cat, duck, dog, goat, donkey, cow or horse, they dashed up behind him and gave his tail a good pull. How they quacked, howled, squawked and barked with laughter. Whiskers would give it a good scratch, and Bingo would lie in wait and make him jump. 

 “I hope you appreciate what it was like for all those animals,” said his father.

“But can’t you make it stop?” Billy asked.

Mrs Nutbeam examined her son’s new appendage every day and agreed with her husband it was there to stay. 

For eight weeks Billy endured the pixie-cat’s tail, and many times a day he suffered when he had it pulled. He tried putting the end in one of his pockets, but it wouldn’t stay there. He tried tying the tail to his chest, and it escaped to dance around behind him. The tail had a mind of its own. It waved about in the air both day and night and wouldn’t keep still. Billy was powerless to stop it. He just had to put up with all its terrible antics.

“Your tail doesn’t look like departing, Billy.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I can’t stand it any longer, Mum.”

“It’s getting worse, I imagined it would’ve dropped off by now.”

“I’ll never pull another tail again.”

Billy’s parents discussed the problem with Grandma Nutbeam. The ways of the woodland folk were her area of expertise. She suggested contacting the pixie and telling her Billy had learnt his lesson. Mister Nutbeam smirked when he heard the idea, but Billy’s mother agreed to try it. She wrote the pixie a letter saying how much her son had changed and how contrite he was. “It’s all we can do,” she said. 

It took the family all day to locate the pixie’s cottage, and when they found its whereabouts it saddened them to discover it looked abandoned. They left the envelope on the doormat and trudged home with their heads hanging in despair.

#

The next day, as Billy was feeding the animals their morning rations, he felt a strange twisting sensation in his tail. The tail rotated and shot up into the air and danced for dear life. After a moment, it fell to the ground, slithered across the floor and disappeared under the door.

“Yes! Yes!” he said. “Mum! Dad! I’m free at last!”

“Now let that be a warning, Billy.”

“I’ll never do it again,” he cried. It’s a vow he’s kept until this day.

#

People say the tail is out there somewhere waiting to find another cruel child who’s not learnt the lesson. Let’s hope that’s nobody we know.

The End